


when the tides sing for blood

by orphan_account



Series: path of totality [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodbending (Avatar), Unhealthy Relationships, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 12:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "'Water.' Hama's voice is like charred leather, and Katara closes her eyes, focusing on its rigidness, its absolution. 'It is in our blood, it is our blood. It empowers us as much as it enslaves us.' She pulls the quilt up to her chest and balls the fabric within her hands. 'Life begins and ends with it, and we alone have the ability to manipulate that.' Her eyes, grey, like the moon in the middle of its cycle, stare up into Katara's, so intense it makes Katara feel rooted to the spot, and it's not by Hama's hand. 'Do you know what that says about us?'Katara just stares at her. Frustration and shame well up inside of her. 'No' she admits.To her surprise, Hama just smiles. She holds out a hand, and Katara does as well, not at all startled by the strong grip that meets her. 'Neither did I, when I was young', Hama chuckles. She licks her lips and hums. 'But you will. In time, you will.'"
Relationships: Hama & Katara
Series: path of totality [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642633
Kudos: 29





	when the tides sing for blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is something I've had in my drafts for about a year now. I had some new ideas about it a few days ago, and they took me in a completely different direction, and this is what came of it. I've got more planned, but this is how we're starting.  
> Before we get into it, though, I wasn't really sure what to tag this as. Think of it as one of those aus where everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong, and that's what this is. Hama's really fucked up and has essentially cultivated all of Katara's fears and insecurities in order to make her into her own living puppet. I don't know what you'd call that but if anyone else does, let me know, and I'd be happy to add it to the tags.

Waxing Gibbous.

She doesn’t need to have her eyes skyward to know this is the stage of the moon tonight. The knowledge is in her blood, as intuitive a truth as the ever-changing canvas of the sky. 

Tomorrow, there will be a full moon in that very sky. And with that moon, her power will be stronger than at any days prior. She guides her comb through her hair, goosebumps arising as she stares ahead, her gaze unwavering. 

There’s something to be said about the moon’s impact upon her. About the way her moods seems to wane towards the beginning of the cycle and wax towards the end. Sokka had called it superstition, and so had just about anyone else she’s ever known.

Everyone but Hama and even she seems to have her doubts. 

Katara blinks, staring at the girl reflected back at her in the slab of ice she’s frozen over the wall. Her cheeks. They look fuller than they have in a while, thick with life and with color and with health. And her eyes; they know longer carry the fear and uncertainty that, for years, had plagued them. In fact, these days, they don’t seem to carry much of anything at all.

If she pays attention, she can hear the sound of her heart beating; she can feel it, pulsing, throbbing, jerking, as if wanting to tear free of her body. And though she knows the phrase to often be a figure of speech, she can quite literally feel the blood coursing through her veins. Her body is like an ocean, and the currents are dizzying, maddening.

Katara inhales deeply, eyes drawn to where her mother’s necklace rests against her jugular notch.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

“You should be sleeping.”   
She doesn’t need to look in the mirror to see Hama approaching. She feels it, in the distinct presence of her anemia-tortured blood cells. Katara sits her comb down and gently places her hands in her lap. “I was just getting ready for bed”, she states, watching as Hama, with a grunt, lowers herself to where Katara’s sitting on the ground. 

“You’ll need your energy if we’re to succeed tomorrow”, Hama says, voice both serene and stern in the way only she possesses. “It won’t be like the rats, it won’t even be like me.”

A shudder passes through Katara. “I know.” They’ve had this discussion before. No matter how much they prepare, no matter how much she practices, nothing will compare to acting on a resistant huan. It’s almost scary. Katara remembers the first time she drew from grass, from rats, from Hama herself; she remembers the ensuing rush and, immediately after, the peace, the calm, the serenity, as her thoughts went cloudy and how, in a way that nothing else could, it made her feel like she was in control again, like she’d found something she could trust in.

It’s a feeling unlike any other, and the thought of performing on a human...she imagines it’d feel like getting lost, but she knows there’s no true use in thinking about it. She will only know when she goes to draw.

Katara’s not the girl she had been when she first stumbled upon this village a year ago. She’s stronger, fiercer, more disciplined, a true force to be reckoned with; it makes her think, a bit smugly, what Pakku would think if he could see her now.

_ He’d be terrified _ , a voice tells her. And though a part of her is pleased of this, there’s another part. One that goes further and wonders of Gran Gran, who still thinks Katara’s searching for a water-bender teacher; one that wonders of her father, is still at war and might not even know she’s left at all; one that wonders of Sokka, who, in helping Katara defend a small Earth Kingdom kingdom village, had been taken as a Prisoner of War of the Fire Nation. She thinks of them all and thinks they, too, would be terrified. And that brings her considerably less pleasure. 

“You’re hesitant”, Hama notes, gray eyes cutting sharply to where Katara sits.

“No, no. I just…” Katara lets her hair free of its topknot, allowing it to spill across her shoulders; she stares down at the comb beside her, noting the way the glare of the setting sun bounces off of it. Its teeth, she can’t help noting, are not unlike that of a shark’s. Katara closes her eyes and sighs. “I’ve been hearing things. In town.”

“Oh?” Hama sounds amused, the way she always does when the topic of the townspeople enters the conversation. Initially, when Katara first began studying underneath her, she hadn’t understood. But now she does. They both perform for power, but when the tides are low and the moon a shadow of itself, Hama views people more in an entertaining light than one of control; something of fascination, of immense interest. Hama hasn’t touched her puppets since she took Katara under her wing, but that doesn’t mean her games have ceased.

On the other end of the spectrum is Katara. She’s more in it for control than anything else, but beneath that, she sees them, the townspeople, as a source of...nourishment, she supposes. 

“There are rumors”, Katara continues, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Rumors that the Avatar has returned.”

Hama doesn’t say anything. She just pulls out her own comb and begins to comb her hair.

“People say he escaped from the ice”, Katara continues, feeling suddenly breathless. “That he’s been outrunning the Fire Nation troops for months.” As she speaks, Katara gets the feeling, one of rejuvenation. Soon enough, she’s speaking faster, faster than it seems her brain can keep up with. “If we could find him, maybe we wouldn’t have to-maybe we could help each other. We could-”

“Katara.” Hama’s tone is curt, clipped, immediately drawing a flinch from Katara and rendering her silent. Hama stares at Katara, her gaze piercing, before her shoulders relax; she reaches out, squeezing Katara’s hand, and smiles. "Did you yourself not tell me, just days ago, that you are too old to believe in fairy tales?"

Katara purses her lips. Her fingers clench around her fist. Yet another figure of speech, but she can, quite literally, feel her blood boiling. An unfortunate side effect of being a bloodbender with a temper. Hama told her to think of it as a motivator instead of an inhibitor. After all, a soldier is only as powerful as their control of their emotions.

"The Avatar is not going to save the world", Hama is saying; she pulls a single droplet of water from the air and stares at it. She seems tired, a common look on her these days. "The avatar is not going to give back what was stolen from us." She casts her tired eyes upon Katara and peels her crackling lips back into a smile. "We will."

Katara knows this. She knows, more than most anyone, that counting on others will get her nowhere. And she hasn’t believed in the concept of the Avatar in years, not since she was a child hiding from bullies in a snowbank but…

She is too old to believe in fairy tales. But she isn’t too old to hope that things could be like how they were when she did. That she was still how she was.

"What would you do?", Hama suddenly asks her. She cocks her head to the side, and Katara can feel the way the blood in her carotid arteries shifts its course. Hama lifts a hand, and a squawk pierces the air. A songbird flies in through the window, settling upon Katara's knee. It would normally be a comforting sight, but with its stiff, wooden movements, it just makes her feel sick. "Our tribe would never accept you", Hama says, puppeteering the bird into flashing its pretty underwings. "They would never understand why you had to become who you’ve become."

Katara just sits there, watching the bird the way one would watch an ostrich-horse’s knees giving out. She wonders, albeit briefly, of Hama’s past. If, once upon a time, she had ventured back home. And why, if they were so close, Gran Gran had never mentioned her, even in musing.

"And the Northern Tribe." Hama scoffs. The bird coughs, flutters its wings, and sluggishly flies back out the window. Katara holds out an arm and helps Hama to her feet, guiding her to the living room. 

"The Northern Tribe’s already made it abundantly clear they don’t want anything to do with you." Katara can't contain her flinch, but Hama doesn’t let it deter her. "And you could never live anywhere else; the Earth Kingdom has enough threats, internal and external, and would be quick to discover you. And if the Nation ever knew who you were, they’d as soon as kill you as they would abduct you and turn you into a machine of war.”

Katara helps Hama sit down on the couch. She leaves to get her a glass of water, stopping at the trembling hand that wraps around her wrist. "My dear, I’m only thinking of what’s best for you”.

She doesn't say it, but Katara knows her next words:  _ No one else will. _

What a lonely thing it must've been to have lived like this, for all those years, with no one to turn to. With no one to trust, to care for and be cared by. A tear slips free of Katara's eye, and she goes to swipe it away, only to stare at it suddenly detaches from her skin and floats before her.

"Never hide your pain", Hama hisses, her voice hollow; aching. "Never let the world  _ forget _ your pain."

Katara stares, feeling horribly weighted by the sound of both of their beating hearts. Shakily, she rises to her feet. She peels the quilt from over the couch and drapes it over Hama, then pauses and watches her. To anyone who may be looking in, you would see a young girl tending to a fragile, old woman. 

To anyone looking in, they would be terribly mistaken.

Hama has a lifetime of a rage no amount of firepower could ever rival and the discipline to control it. And where Katara wanes in discipline, she waxes in raw emotion, and the blood flowing throughout her body revels in the ensuing power.

Together, destruction would know no bounds.

"Water." Hama's voice is like charred leather, and Katara closes her eyes, focusing on its rigidness, its absolution. "It is in our blood, it  _ is _ our blood. It empowers us as much as it enslaves us." She pulls the quilt up to her chest and balls the fabric within her hands. "Life begins and ends with it, and we alone have the ability to manipulate that." Her eyes, grey, like the moon in the middle of its cycle, stare up into Katara's, so intense it makes Katara feel rooted to the spot, and it's not by Hama's hand. "Do you know what that says about us?" 

Katara just stares at her. Frustration and shame well up inside of her. "No", she admits.

To her surprise, Hama just smiles. She holds out a hand, and Katara does as well, not at all startled by the strong grip that meets her. "Neither did I, when I was young", Hama chuckles. She licks her lips and hums. "But you will. In time, you will."

Hama breathes, and it is a hideous sound, like there are holes in her lungs. Any day could be the day, and the prospect looms over them both the sky bisons of old.

"Already you are so powerful", Hama whispers, her voice full of a chilled wonder. "I need the full moon but you. You are gifted. You are what our people needed in their time of distress."

Katara's eyes slam shut, an abrupt motion. Her breathing, at once calm and steady, turns ragged and wheezy. Their people. Because when it all comes down to it, that's what this is all about; it’s their ground-zero, their origin story; even if they could never go back, they could never fully move on either.

Vengeance. For the very people who, following the final raid, turned their backs on her, outcasted her. Masochism; it rivals only her skills as a soldier.

"Katara. Now is not the time to have doubts."

Katara pulls her hands away, lingering beside the couch.

"Think of all the good we can do together", Hama says, voice thick with emotion. "We can put an end to their reign, begin a new one, where no one would have to suffer as we have.”

Katara stares out the window; the songbird from earlier rests upon one of the gate-posts, shuddering despite the humidity. "We can make sure they never hurt anyone again”, she murmurs, feeling both tired and antsy.

"Yes", Hama says, relaxing.

"And…" Worry unfurls in her stomach. "And-and we can help people! When we're not, er, performing."

When Hama next speaks, confusion is bright and pervasive in her voice, inflection contorting her words. "What do you mean?" 

"I’ve been practicing." Katara smiles uncertainly and turns to face her once more. "I think it'll be a while before I perfect it but...I think I can see. Into the heart, the cardiovascular system. If I study enough.” She grabs hold of her arm and bites her lip. “I don’t think I’d be able to reverse it, but I think I’d be able to stop a lot of people for a lot of people.”

It'd be different from animals, she’s certain. She got her hands onto some medical books a while back, but it’s gonna take intensive practice if she actually goes through with this. Manipulating is one thing. Mending; it’d be an entirely different matter.

When she next looks to Hama, she finds eyes, soft and tender staring back at her. "Yes", Hama says, a gentle wheeze escaping her. "Yes, I suppose you could." She chuckles, and her entire body shakes with laughter. "You're more powerful than I ever would have thought."

"I know", Katara breathes; her hands are trembling. "It’s amazing, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

She falls asleep shortly after, and, minutes later, Katara retreats to her room and does the same.

Morning comes, and though the moon is cloaked by the lit sky, Katara finds she can’t remember the last time she felt this powerful.

As she’s finishing loading up their wagon, she catches the conversation of two passing fishermen.

"Just got the news", one is saying, his eyes downcast. "It was the Prince. He killed him before he could even get in the air."

Katara freezes in her spot, her arms trembling around the basket of fruits in her arms. She stares, watching as the fisherman struggle to carry their catch down the road.

Hama clears her throat, and Katara turns to where she’s sitting in the carriage. Dangling from her fingers is a locket. Katara takes it, gently fingering the ornament, then looks up at her.

"Your mother’s necklace", Hama says with a sad smile. "Where we’re going...To become who you’re meant to be, you need to destroy who you were. Do you understand?” 

Katara lifts her hand, pressing her fingers against the pendant of her mother. She lets it linger there, upon the cool stone, tracing her fingers over the smooth engravings. Swallowing her apprehension, she pulls it free of her neck and tucks it into her pocket, replacing it with Hama’s between one heartbeat and the next.

"We’re going to do many great things", Hama says with a grim smile, taking hold of their ostrich-horse’s reins. The horses begin to walk, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

Katara cranes her neck around, catching one last glimpse of the fishermen before returning her gaze to the road ahead.

It’s a long road, one which winds and dips and, at some points, breaks off altogether. But it’s the only one that'll take them out of the village. And it's the road she’ll take.

And if she should die upon, then so be it.

. . .

On the first new moon of the summer, word emerges of a squadron dropped dead, with no immediately visible explanations. Physicians, upon further examination, discovered one single cause: cardiac arrest.

It was the first of many strange, mass deaths to occur.

**Author's Note:**

> I am really excited about this. Let me know what y'all are thinking and thanks for reading!


End file.
